Britton waved her away much like a queen dismissing her staff. "We'll check with the valets. I'm sure she was just tired."
As I followed her toward the front doors, I muttered, "Tired people generally go up to their rooms to get some sleep, not stumble out the front door to God only knows where."
Britton flashed me as much of a dirty look as her face would allow. "She hasn't really had a place of her own to go back to, and her husband was just totally murdered."
I nearly bit a hole through my lip to keep back the retort about her being under investigation for said murder. Instead I tried to put myself in LeAnna's spoiled-rotten shoes for a few seconds. She really was under a lot of pressure, and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't actually see her killing anyone, much less her husband.
Cheat on them, lie to them, spend their money like it was going out of style, annoy them to death, and push them to kill her? Yes.
The smell of car exhaust and gasoline combined with copious amounts of Axe Body Spray. Britton sauntered up to the head valet, who was responsible for the more overpowering of the mixture.
He yanked his vest straight and smoothed his long, dark hair behind his ears, snapping to stick-straight attention.
"Mrs. King." He nodded at Britton. Peeking over her shoulder at me, he nodded again. "Ms. King."
"Ken, you know you can call me Britton," she gushed.
"What can I do for you," he asked in a shaky voice, swallowing hard before squeaking out, "Britton?"
"Who was working last night?"
He slowly raised his hand over his head.
"You know our guest LeAnna Taylor, right?" she asked.
He nodded, his long hair falling loose.
"Awesome!" she yelped, causing Ken to flinch into a slightly crouched defensive stance for a moment. He quickly bounced back to attention as she continued, "Did you see her last night?"
"Sure did. She told me you said she could have the Palace limo last night."
I raised a brow at Britton, and her head shook enthusiastically. It wasn't like it surprised me that LeAnna had lied, but I was losing the tiny ember of compassion for her I'd fanned just a few minutes earlier.
Britton grabbed Ken by the shoulders, his face instantly flushing pink and sweat beading on his forehead.
"When did she come back?" she grilled.
"I never saw her after that. The limo came back around two this morning. But it was empty." He paused. "I mean, someone was driving it, but there were no guests."
"Who was driving it? We need to know where she went." Britton's concerned voice raised several octaves, making Ken squint.
He bobbed his head toward the circular drive. "Lucas. He's out there now. Just brought a high roller in from the airport."
Britton released him and grabbed my hand, dragging me behind her as we darted outside. "Thanks, Ken!" she called as the doors closed behind us.
The bright morning sun was chipping away again at the snow banks, leaving us to dodge puddles as we scurried up the drive toward the limo.
"Lucas!" Britton waved her arms erratically as he stepped a foot into the vehicle, obviously ready to leave. He paused, looking over his shoulder, breaking into a big smile as we neared him.
"Hello, ladies." He pulled himself up, standing at attention next to the perfectly polished vehicle. "Are you in need of my services again today?"
Britton's eyes widened with a matching smile. "Can you take us to where you took LeAnna Taylor last night?"
He nodded and opened the door for us. I shrugged and followed her into the backseat.
Before shutting the door, the driver said, "She went to that new club next to Harrah's, Midnight Tahoe."
"Hashtag oh-em-gee," Britton grumbled as the driver shut the door. "I haven't even been there yet."
Technically we probably could have walked the block to the club, but considering the temperature was hovering in the forties, and we were both wearing skirts, we let the limo do the transporting. A few moments later, we were pulling up in front of the trendy two-story club. A large television-type billboard sign flashed clips of smiling, perfect people dancing in perfect designer outfits on a perfectly packed dance floor bathed in colorful lights and enjoying a stream of never-ending drinks brought by perfect waitstaff.
However when we entered the front door, we were struck with a much different scene. It was dead quiet, and the sticky floor was scattered with glitter, partially deflated balloons, and torn streamers. The scents of soured booze, stale cigarettes, and day-after regret hung in the air. Half-empty glasses and bottles dotted the multilevel dancing and seating areas, along with overflowing ashtrays and various articles of clothing. I felt a hangover coming on from just standing there.
A man in a tight T-shirt that stretched the words Midnight Tahoe across his impressive chest popped up from behind the chrome bar against the far wall. He braced his forearms on the bar top, affording us a view of his bulging biceps. "Sorry, ladies. We're closed."
"God, I hope so," I whispered to Britton as we made our way to him.
Britton tiptoed through the messes on the floor, gliding like Ginger Rogers in spike heels. As she neared the bartender, she announced, "I'm Britton King. Of the Royal Palace Casino?"
He nodded. Everyone in town had heard of the Kings and the Royal Palace. While Tahoe was a fully modern resort destination, it was actually a small town with very few permanent residents. And my father had been one of the most well known of those.
"I was wondering if you could help us track down one of our guests."
He frowned. "Why? He stiff you on the room bill?"
Britton smiled and shook her head. "No, she just hasn't come home yet."
His frowned smoothed out. "Oh. Gotcha. Pulling a wild overnighter somewhere, huh?"
Britton's smile faltered, though I found myself having to stifle an unladylike snort. I had a feeling the bartender had nailed it.
Britton pulled her phone from her cleavage (which explained some of the excess) and swiped through her pictures, finally settling on the same one she'd offered the girl at the front desk. "Do you remember seeing her last night?"
The guy shook his head. "Lady, I see a lot of people in a night."
"Take a second look," I told him.
His eyes left Britton and swung my way as if noticing I was there for the first time. Story of my life lately.
"And you are?"
"Ms. Tessie King, owner of the Royal Palace," I said, totally playing the name-drop game in an effort to impress him.
Which seemed to work. He stood up a bit straighter. "Really? You know, I applied for a job there last month. Haven't heard back yet."
I gave him a tight smile. "I'll be sure your application gets moved to the top of the pile. Mr…"
"Brad. Brad Duncan."
"Great. So, Brad, think you could have a second look at Mrs. King's phone?"
This time Brad nodded, more than happy to help. "You know what," he said, nodding his head as he squinted at the picture. "I do remember her!"
"Really?" Britton asked. "So you saw her here last night?"
His head bobbed up and down. "I sure did. She was hard to miss. She's very…" He paused and grinned. "Friendly."
"Yes, she is," Britton agreed, completely missing the man's point. "Do you know when she left?"
"Sorry, we were slammed last night. I can't tell you when she left. I didn't know the guy she was with, either."
"Guy she was with?" I jumped on the words. Though I shouldn't have been surprised.
He nodded. "Wish I could help more, but I haven't lived here very long, and this is a new club. We don't exactly have regulars just yet."
Britton's shoulders sagged, and she turned her pouty face toward me. "What now, Tessie?"
As much as I hated to do it…
I pulled out my phone, reluctantly scrolling through my own pictures until I found one of Rafe at a publicity event we'd recently done. I felt physically ill, clutching my phone to my ches
t as I replayed his and LeAnna's cozy bathroom moment. The last thing I wanted was actual confirmation that LeAnna had been barhopping with Rafe.
Turning the phone slowly toward the hunky guy, I muttered, "This is the guy, right?"
To my surprised, he shook his head. "Nope, the guy she was with was much older. And, dude, even I know Rafe Lorenzo. The man is a snowboarding legend."
I let out a huge breath, unable to contain my smile.
"How old are we talking?" Britton asked.
Brad shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, not ancient. The guy could party, that's for sure. But he had kinda graying hair. Like a George Clooney type."
Britton and I locked eyes, the lightbulb moment hitting us both at the description. Her hands flew over her phone until she had Jerry Taylor's LifeBling profile on the screen. She turned it triumphantly toward the man again.
He tossed his hands in the air. "Boom!" His voice echoed through the cavernous room. "That's the guy she was partying with. He was wearing a shirt last night, but yeah, it's him. They seemed fairly fond of one another, if you know what I mean." He waggled his brow and winked.
I raised an eyebrow. Looked like someone might not mind "parking in Daddy's garage" after all.
Britton turned toward me, shock making her false lashes blink faster than a hummingbird's wings. "LeAnna and Jerry? LeAnna and her stepson?!"
I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door. Waving a hand in the air as we left, I called, "Thanks for your help!"
"Hey, call me about that position!" he shot back. "I'm free nights and weekends!"
I nodded as we made our way back out into the biting cold and into our waiting limo.
As soon as we were inside, I pointed toward her phone and said, "Do that thingy where you find out where he's been most recently."
Obviously not completely over the blow of LeAnna being friendly with her stepson, her blinking had downgraded to an erratic strobe light. "What?"
"You know, check his account glittering and stuff. I saw Tate do it."
"Oh, right." Finally, she forced her attention to her phone. After a few taps and swipes, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He just posted that he's getting all gooey and wet at the Deep Blue indoor beach." She shoved her phone in my face so I could see an anorexic redhead smearing suntan lotion on him while he was sprawled on a beach towel by the pool.
I offered her my best what the heck look. "Is he afraid of a florescent light burn?"
"Weston has tanning tiki huts, so you can get the whole 'beach experience.'" She made air quotes over her last few words.
I pushed the intercom button. "Lucas, can you please take us to the Deep Blue."
"You got it, Boss," our driver said cheerfully, knowing better than to ask why.
Again, a walk might have been the faster way to get one block down on Lake Tahoe Boulevard during ski season, but a few warm minutes later we pulled to a stop in the circular drive of the Deep Blue. The driver scrambled to the door, opening it and standing at attention, hand extended in case we needed help.
Britton patted his arm. "Thanks for your help, Lucas."
"It's no problem at all, Mrs. King." He nodded my way. "Ms. King. Will you need me to stay until you're finished?"
I glanced across the road at the Palace. "I think we can make it."
With a nod, he headed back to the driver's seat and was gone.
I cast a glance at Britton. She hadn't said much on the way over. She hadn't even looked at me, just stared blankly at the empty seat across from her. She was obviously a bit disillusioned with her friend. I felt bad for her. While I'd expected LeAnna to sleep with anything that had a pulse, I was watching Britton's faith in her friend crumble before my eyes. I slipped an arm through hers. "Don't worry," I told her. "I'm sure LeAnna will have a good explanation for all of this when we find her." Okay, it was a total lie, but it served to bring a small smile back to Britton's lips.
We made our way past the enormous fish tank and down the sandy, etched path where I practically heard the bubbling pedicure tubs call my name from the spa. We paused at the entrance to the pool area. I could hear giggles, splashing, and squeals from the other side.
I paused with my hand over the doorknob. "You sure you wanna see this? LeAnna could be in there with him."
Britton's posture straightened bravely, the panther on her shoulders dancing to attention. "Let's do this."
We opened the door and were immediately assaulted by the pungent smells of chlorine with a dab of sickeningly sweet coconut. The air was way too hot and humid. Sweat instantly beaded on my forehead and upper lip.
I scanned the enormous indoor beach for any sign of Jerry and his emaciated date. To the left was a large, curling water slide emptying into one end of the Olympic-sized pool. It was filled with squealing, screeching children. To the right was a separate wave pool. Adults seemed to congregate there, most with a drink in tow. Several cabanas dotted the sand-covered area around the pools, with lounge chairs filling the empty spaces between. Some were open, their occupants enjoying the view, while others had theirs closed off for privacy. I grabbed Britton's hand and tugged her along behind me. The clip-clop of her shoes on the cement walkway echoed off the high ceilings, mingling with the ear-piercing kid noises.
I passed several open cabanas before pausing outside one where the curtains were shut tightly. A female giggle mixed with male whispers.
I cleared my throat loudly. "Jerry Taylor?" I asked from outside the hut.
"Who's asking?" came the reply. Definitely in Jerry's voice.
"Tessie King," I stated definitively. I contemplated barging in but was worried about just what I might see.
Britton pushed me aside and barked, "And Britton King."
After some shuffling noises, the curtains opened. Jerry was wearing just a towel around his waist, his tanned, chiseled chest glistening with oil. His eyes shifted between me and Britton, narrowing as he saw that neither of us was dressed for a day at the beach.
"Where's LeAnna?" Britton demanded.
"How should I know?"
The tiny redhead from the photo appeared behind him, dressed in nothing but a matching towel. She jabbed a pair of hands against her nonexistent hips. "Uh, who is LeAnna?" she spat.
He turned. "It's my father's wife. My…" He paused, seemingly swallowing back some choice words before continuing. "Stepmother." He pivoted back around to us. "And I haven't seen her." He moved to flip the curtain back into place and return to his redhead.
But Britton grabbed the cloth from his hands before he could. "Like hell you haven't. You were clubbing with Stepmommy all night."
"Hey!" the redhead protested. "You told me you were going out with the guys last night."
If looks could kill, Britton would be dead. Jerry's eyes narrowed on hers. His jaw clenched. A vein at his temple bulged. He pulled in a deep breath through flared nostrils, reminding me of a bull about to charge. Talk about a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Where was the flirty playboy we'd met on his yacht?
"Cassie," he said, addressing the now pouting redhead. "Why don't you go chase us down a couple more mai tais while I get rid of these ladies?"
"Fine," she huffed, clearly not all that happy about his whereabouts but not yet willing to give up her arm-candy status yet either. She flounced off to do his bidding, still dressed in nothing more than a towel.
Then Jerry turned to us. "You've got two minutes," he ground out.
"Where is LeAnna?" Britton asked again.
"Not here," he shot back.
Britton scoffed, her glossy lips scrunched in an angry pucker. "You were the last person to see her last night. At Midnight Tahoe. The bartender saw you two together. Hashtag busted."
He shrugged. "So I saw her last night. I don't know where she is now. It's not like I'm her keeper."
"Where did you guys go after your date at the club?" I interjected.
"Whoa!" He waved his hands between us. "That was not a date in any sense of the word. She said she
needed to blow off some steam, and I told her I was going to the club. We hung out."
I so wanted to tell him what the bartender had said about them seeming fond of one another. "Fine. Where did you two go after hanging out?" I asked.
"Nowhere. I left her about midnight. She wouldn't put that damned phone away and kept getting texts." He waved a dismissive hand. "I was done with her."
"Do you know who the texts were from?" I asked, again envisioning Rafe's face.
He shook his head. "I didn't care, and I didn't ask."
"Did she say where she was going next? How she was getting back to the hotel?" Britton asked. I could hear the desperation creeping into her voice again.
"No and yes. I have no idea where she was headed after the club, but she said she was texting a friend for a ride. Why?" he asked, clearly picking up on Britton's worry.
"She hasn't come home yet," Britton answered.
Jerry shrugged. "I doubt it's the first all-nighter she's ever pulled."
The redhead took that moment to sashay back with a brightly colored drink in each hand. Jerry gave her a smile as he took one, the charming Dr. Jekyll back again. Then he turned to us, the smile faltering a bit. "Quite frankly, I honestly couldn't care less where LeAnna is. Now, if you don't mind, I have some very important business to attend to." He enveloped the girl in his arms and disappeared behind the curtain into the hut. When laughs and giggles mutated to groans and moans, I grabbed Britton's hand, pulling her through the exit and into the cool hall outside.
"So," Britton said, a lost look in her eyes. "What do we do now? I mean, LeAnna could be anywhere."
Had the Mafia not chosen this particular week to stay in my casino, I might have shrugged this off as LeAnna shacking up with one of her boy toys. But as it was, I figured it was better to err on the side of caution where the safety of my guests—even if they were she-devils—was concerned.
I pulled my phone out as I swiped the damp hair from my face. "It's time to call in the big guns."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Half an hour later we were sitting in my office at the Royal Palace—Britton pacing next to my bookshelf, mindlessly rearranging knickknacks, and me trying not to fidget behind my desk as I waited for Agent Ryder to meet us. As much as I wasn't looking forward to facing him after our three-way standoff outside the Battle Buffet set that morning, the truth was he had resources that we didn't.
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